Fujie Atsuko stood on the genkan step, looking down at Peter and me as we walked into the narrow apartment entryway. The light was behind her making it difficult to read her expression. I noticed another woman just behind her, peering at us around Fujie’s shoulder. Her dark hair was pulled into a low bun. She wore glasses. This, I was to learn, was Akiko Kurita, the Managing Director of the Japan Foreign-Rights Center.

Peter thrust the neatly wrapped package of Baumkuchen cake at Fujie-san and then made to follow her into the apartment. I yanked him back in terror, reminding him to first remove his shoes.

Seeing Peter struggle to reach his laces, and nearly tripping in the process, Fujie sent one of her aides into a back room. The woman returned a few minutes later with a chair, which they set alongside the low paulownia table in the room where Uno Chiyo and I had earlier met to discuss literature, translations, and lovers.

For good measure, they placed a chair there for me, too.

Peter and I both sat, our knees now eye level with Uno Chiyo’s party, who sat on zabuton floor cushions. Uno Sensei, we had been informed earlier, was not feeling well and would not attend the meeting. She had instructed Fujie and Kurita to speak on her behalf.

Peter launched into his requests posthaste

“We want to publish more Chiyo.”

I cringed at the informality and glanced furtively at Fujie and Kurita. Neither blinked. They kept their eyes firmly on our kneecaps.

“We think there’s a market. Let’s start with The Story of a Single Woman and whatever Hamilton’s got planned and take it from there,” Peter continued, referring to William Hamilton, the director of the University of Hawai’i Press. Hamilton had contracted to publish my The Sound of the Wind: The Life and Works of Uno Chiyo, which included translations of three of the author’s stories.

Kurita turned to Fujie and began translating what Peter had just said in a voice too low for me to catch completely, there on my lofty perch.

Fujie responded to Kurita at a similarly inaudible decibel. Neither changed expressions. With faces like that, I thought, they’d make a killing at the poker tables.

“We are pleased to hear of your interest, Mr. Owen,” Ms. Kurita spoke, her English careful and crisp. “Uno Sensei would welcome the opportunity to see more of her works appear in English. We must discuss terms, of course.”

I sighed inwardly with relief. All seemed to be going well, and then Peter jumped in.

“Didn’t we already handle this in Germany?”

Apparently, Peter had met Kurita at the Frankfurt Book Fair earlier in the fall.

“Certainly, we spoke, but nothing was finalized,” Kurita replied rather tartly. “Of course, we must consider the wishes of Chiyo Uno herself.”

Peter grimaced and then pushed ahead.

“Our terms are 75/25, as you well know. I’d like to finalize this before I leave Tokyo. I can have the contract sent over this afternoon.”

The woman who had brought out the chairs returned with a tray of refreshments. She set out cups of steaming English tea before each of us along with our own individual dish of cake, a kind of strawberry glazed cheesecake neatly wrapped in cellophane.

Kurita bowed but made no move to touch what was offered. Peter plopped the sugar cubes into his tea, stirred noisily, and then brought the tea to his lap, saucer and all. He lifted the cup to his lips and slurped happily.

“What, no Baumkuchen?” he asked, turning to me in surprise.

“Um, no…” I started.
“Then why’d we have to bring it?” he looked confused.

“I’ll explain later.”

After gulping down the tea, Peter resumed his “negotiations” until it became clear nothing would be decided today.

We would leave as awkwardly as we arrived.

“What was that all about?” Peter asked as we walked back to Omote Sandō. “I just wasted my afternoon and the price of a cake.”

“Not at all,” I tried to explain. “The point of our visit was just to make contact and introduce ourselves to Uno Chiyo’s people. Negotiations will follow.”

Years later, in Peter Owen: Not a Nice Jewish Boy, Memoirs of a Maverick Publisher (2021), Peter would describe the encounter this way:

When it came to bringing out a novel by Chiyo Uno, who was an eminent author and fashion designer, I had wanted to meet her in Japan, but she was in hospital and refusing visitors. She had been something of a beauty and didn’t want people to see her unwell. Perhaps it was fair enough—when we published her famed 1933 novel Confessions of Love in 1990 she was already ninety-three.

Uno was quite a daring and independent woman. Like Colette, whose books I also published, Uno’s life was tumultuous and adventurous enough to inspire vivid and occasionally racy novels and a television dramatisation. I wish I had met her, but just meeting her agent involved quite a rigmarole. Wherever you go in Japan you’re expected to bring a present of some sort. My translator and I bought the agent a lavish cake, but goodness knows what sort of gift grande dame Chiyo Uno would have expected had she agreed to receive us.

I guess that cake gift made a lasting impression on Peter, much as he made a lasting impression on me.

In the months and years to follow, I would find myself caught in negotiations between Ms. Kurita and Mr. Owen. The former was determined to protect the interests of her client at all costs, the latter to develop a market for his client’s works. Neither was ill-intentioned, I believe. But the tension that arose between them—largely catalyzed by their vastly different communicative styles—left me at a loss. I had no experience with high-octane publishers or with legal copyright issues. I just wanted to translate Uno Chiyo’s fiction.

And so I did.

Eventually, Peter and Ms. Kurita and Uno and me and a sundry list of other players would reach an agreement and as a result Peter Owen Ltd published my translation of The Story of a Single Woman.

Working with Peter, despite the uncomfortable beginning, was not only a tremendous learning experience for me, but also remarkably pleasant as time went on. I found him eccentric but also kind in his own way.

In the posts to follow, I will share more of the story behind the Story. What did Peter and Akiko think of each other? What did Peter think of Uno Chiyo’s works? What did I think of translating? What did my employer think of translation?

I’ve been inspired to take this journey through past correspondences and fading memories having learned that Penguin Random House has purchased the rights to my translation and plans to reissue it. The Story of a Single Woman is scheduled for release April 29, 2025.